


Happy Christmas, Commander Bond

by The_Honeyed_Moon



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, First Meetings, Johnlock Fluff, Kilts, M/M, New Relationship, Oral Sex, kilt kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Moon/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Moon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q brings James home for Christmas dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Christmas, Commander Bond

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrightBlueEyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightBlueEyes/gifts).



> For BrighBlueEyes who told me "I need this fic - like now". Its been churning around in my head for a while and that was the incentive I needed.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.
> 
>  
> 
> (This story is operating on the assumption that Q is a full sibling to Mycroft and Sherlock.)

Christmas at the Holmes estate was always a formal affair. This year all three Holmes boys would be in attendance – Mycroft, Sherlock and Sherrinford. And when Mummy said formal she meant it. The boys knew better than to show up with lint on their lapels or a hair out of place. Growing up a Holmes was a starched and scratchy existence for a little boy.

Mycroft arrived first in his chauffeured car, fresh from the Diogenes Club in his best Saville Row suit and a silver tie-pin of a tiny sprig of holly. He wanted to be first to set an example for his younger brothers; at least that is what he told his mother. He really just wanted to show them both up. Childhood grudges run deep with the Holmes boys.

Sherlock and John arrived close on Mycroft’s heels. Mycroft had arranged a car for them, making sure that the car was late in arriving at Baker Street to pick them up. Sherlock had bullyragged the driver mercilessly the entire trip to get him to go faster. 

Childhood grudges, remember? 

As Sherlock and John were stepping out of their car – Sherlock in a black suit and tartan pocket square to match the Watson Tartan kilt that John was wearing – another car came up the drive. 

_Roared_ up the drive.

This would be Sherrinford and his partner, James, whom no one had met as yet. James was driving a sleek, blue/silver Aston Martin DB9 and he gunned the engine before shutting if off. 

“You can close your mouth now, John. Its just a car.” Sherlock placed on long finger under John’s chin and closed John’s mouth for him. “You’ll be dislodging your sporran if you don’t calm down.” The colour of the car reminded John of Sherlock’s eyes when it rained, and the growling sound from under the bonnet? Well now, that just did things for John.

James got out of the car and he too was wearing a kilt with a formal dinner jacket and Sherrinford was in a suit very similar to Sherlock’s except he was wearing a tie and waistcoat. 

The four of them stood together in front of the house, feet crunching on the gravel drive as introductions were made.

Sherrinford stepped forward and shook John’s hand. “Lovely to see you again Doctor.”

“John, please. So, Sherrinford, this is James?” John smiled at James.

The blond man with the exquisite car looked at Sherrinford with raised eyebrows and extended his hand to John. “Yes, pleasure to meet you John. I can take you for a ride later,” nodding toward the car, “if you like.” John blushed at having been caught out ogling the car.

“Yes, yes that could be fun, ta.” John was smiling at the thought.

Sherlock, somewhat possessively, linked his arm through John’s and began to lead him away and up to the front door. 

James stepped next to his lover and said, “ _Sherrinford_?”

“Yes, well. Mummy wanted a girl and got me instead so she saddled me with the name she had already chosen. She hadn’t even thought of boys names, she was so convinced she was having a girl.” He had been terribly picked on as a child, but Mycroft and Sherlock, both of whom had lived through the same thing, made sure that the youngest Holmes was defended.

“Should I call you that?” James asked, “or should I stick with ‘Q’?”

“Q, please.” He mentally thanked his employer for his position and new, preferred title.

Sherrinford, or Q rather, took James by the hand and led him up to the imposing front door of his boyhood home.

~

A long time ago, Mycroft had made the off-hand comment to John: “You can imagine the Christmas dinners.” They were every bit as uncomfortable as John had imagined. The petty bickering and arguments about old family history started during drinks and continued right through the Christmas pudding. Sherlock was the middle child, and it showed.

James and John connected over their shared military service and swapped stories during dinner, thankful for common ground where they could escape from whatever harangue was happening around them at the table.

After dessert Sherlock, John, James and Q moved to the library while Mycroft took a phone call. Like political coups, the British Government never takes a day off, not even Christmas. Mummy had thanked everyone for coming a bid them a goodnight. The offer for them to stay over night if they wished was also extended. 

“You have a lovely home, Q.” James had one arm around Q’s slender waist and was admiring the volumes that lined the walls. Wall space that wasn’t occupied by a fireplace or window was taken up by bookcases. 

Jokingly, James asked, “Have you read them all?”

Both Sherlock and Q answered the question at the same time. “Yes.” James’ eyes went wide, but John just quirked up one corner of his mouth and shook his head. 

“Can I get you a drink, Commander?” John moved to the drinks trolley and chose a cognac.

“Thank you Captain,” James said, taking the glass. “To the Holmes family, the whole daft lot.” They clinked expensive crystal and sipped their drinks. 

“Never took your for that drive.”

John shrugged, “Are you two staying over?” James nodded. “Well, there’ll be time to do it tomorrow.” They both took another sip.

Sherlock and Q had moved over to a corner of the room and had their heads together, whispering and gesturing.

John tipped his head towards the dark-haired pair, “Well, that probably isn’t good.”

“Do you suppose they’re planning something?” James asked.

“Oh, yeah. Better go break them up before they can cook up some horrible plan to fill Mycroft’s brolly with ashes from the fireplace, or worse.” John spoke up, “Sherlock, cognac?”

“No, come here please. You too, James.” James gave John an _uh-oh_ look. 

“Once more into the breach, right?” John said, nudging James to get him moving. “After you.”

Sherlock took John’s glass and set it down on the bookcase behind him, Q did the same. Both of them had grins on their faces that could best be described as wicked.

John knew the look and it made the skin on his thighs break into gooseflesh. James had no idea what he was in for. “Just surrender, its easier,” John advised James before he stretched up to kiss Sherlock. Q circled James with is arms and drew him in for a kiss also.

Some unspoken signal passed between the Holmes brothers and both James and John were manoeuvred around and positioned with their backs against the bookshelves.

“James, are you a traditional Scotsman?” Sherlock asked. James pulled out of the hungry kiss that Q was administering.

“Sorry?” he managed to stammer before Q was back for more, licking at James’ mouth to gain re-entry.

“Regarding your kilt.” He was tugging at the fabric of John’s kilt, dragging it back and forth across John’s bum. “John is. Are you bare underneath yours too?” John, who had been nuzzling at Sherlock’s neck groaned and thought _Welcome to the family, James_. He pressed himself against Sherlock’s thigh, careful to move his sporran out of the way, so as not to do himself an injury. Sherlock simply unfastened it and let it drop to the floor.

“Well? Maybe my little brother should answer for you.” He already knew the answer just from the way James sat at dinner.

Q slid down James’ body letting his hands trail down James’ thighs. He too unhooked the sporran that James was wearing and discarded it. As he stood he ran his hands under the wool of the kilt and took one arse cheek in each hand and answered Sherlock’s question. “Traditional Scotsman.”

“Perfect.” Another signal? James and John would never know because things went from half-mast to full sail almost in the time it took for Sherlock and Q to drop to their knees and push family tartans out of the way.

John threw his head back and gasped as the wet heat of Sherlock’s mouth sheathed his burgeoning erection.

James, on the other hand, watched as Q slowly ran his tongue around the head of his cock, slipping it under the foreskin and into the slit. “Oh my God.” Then he remembered, “Mycroft? What if he comes in?”

It was John who answered. “Don’t worry, oh _fuck_ , Sherlock. Don’t worry. Mycroft is off averting a war, or starting a war. God, do that again.” He placed a hand on Sherlock’s head and pushed further into Sherlock’s mouth and uttered a drawn-out, sibilant “yess…Sssherlock, yes…”

James had found himself in odd and often dangerous situations, but this was a first. He never imagined the first time he met his lover’s family that he’d be getting sucked off in the library after Christmas pudding.

The brothers soon fell into a tandem rhythm as they ministered to the cocks before them. Over the crackle of the fire in the grate were the soft sounds of Q humming around James’ cock and John swearing under his breath as Sherlock took him in so far that his nose brushed at his pubic hair.

James and John watched, eyes wide as their clever, attentive lovers took their time, coaxing every gasp, every sigh out of them. 

Then, another sound came to them. James heard it first. If Sherlock and Q did, they never let on, but of course they had. They’d planned the whole thing.

It was the sound of expensive leather shoes on the polished oak floor of the hall. Before any one could say stop, much less _actually_ stop, the door to the library opened and Mycroft stepped in. He stood still and took in the scene: Two darkly tousled heads bobbing in tandem in front of the two men leaning against the bookcases. Kilts pushed out of the way to allow access to the cocks beneath. Wet, obscene sounds coming from his brother’s mouths. Fingers twined in hair, lips bitten in anticipation of release. Two sets of blue eyes, staring back at him.

He stood there a little longer than was strictly necessary. “Appologies,” was all he said, and he stepped backwards through the door, drawing it shut after himself.

As Mycroft made his way down the hallway he could hear the sound of laughter turn into shouts of pleasure as Sherlock and Q’s plan reached its end. He thought to himself that perhaps he should have invited that dashing DI that Sherlock worked with.

There was always next year…


End file.
